"escorting" poems
I am the queen of what ifs
Sitting on a throne of could've beens
My fears are my loyal subjects
Escorting my dreams to the gallows
My ambitions are now prisoners
To my court of procrastination
I, the queen
Reign over all of this regret
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
"This is the day we've been waiting on. It's ok to be nervous but don't be scared. You are the sacred vessel" said the tall dark skin woman as she looked down into the eyes of the ten year old boy. Dressed in a red and black robe the ten year old boy says "I'm not afraid. I'm just ready to get this over with." "That's just what I wanted to hear Levi. It's time to get started. Please follow behind me" said the tall dark skin woman. "Yes mother" said Levi as he followed his mother out of his room. Leading Levi down a long hall that was illuminated with red light his mother says "When Priest summon the spirit Cruelty remember not to fight it. Just let it take over." "Ok" said Levi. When Levi and his mother entered the worship area Levi's mother had him stand in front of the altar and the clergy. "Thank you Harriet for escorting Levi to the altar" said a tall figure wearing a black hooded robe. "You're welcome Priest" said Harriet. Stepping down from the altar holding a baby creature in his right hand and a knife in his left hand Priest stood in front of Levi. Priest stabbed the baby creature in it's stomach and ripped it opened. He then dipped his finger in the baby creature's blood and anointed Levi's forehead with it's blood. "Bring me the Book of Sins" said Priest. Stepping down from the altar holding the Book of Sins a short figure wearing a black hooded robe brought Priest the Book of Sins. Turning to the chapter of Cruelty, Priest began reading. "As night blinds the sight of the male and the female and Hate stands on the grave of Love. Only then will evil reveal it self. Like Death stalking the living Cruelty will crush Kindness. I offer this vessel to the mistress Cruelty. Come forward I summon you Cruelty." When Priest finished reading from the Book of Sins the red lights that illuminated the compound began to flicker off and on. From out of no where a gust of wind began to circle around Levi. Slowly the wind began to transform into black smoke. Over taken with fear Levi was unable to move. Entering through Levi's gaping mouth the black smoke took possession of him. Shaking violently Levi fell to the floor. "Levi are you all right?" asked Priest. Standing to his feet and looking Priest in his face with eyes as black as death Levi says "The child is no longer in control." Walking up to Priest, Levi sticks his hand in Priest's stomach and pulls out his intestines. "LEVI YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER!" screamed Harriet as she ran over to the lifeless body of Priest. "I am Cruelty. Like I told the child's father Levi is no longer in control but for amusement everyone may still call me Levi" said Cruelty as she looked at Harriet. Pointing at the robed figures on the altar Cruelty tells them to get rid of Priest's dead body. "Yes Levi" said the robed figures.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
Tell your tale to the wind,
Be scattered across the sky, sing without ever being rewarded,
The falling of the leafs may be a sign of change, a warning of colder times crossing your path in this loitering darkness which takes over,
Allure is the thought of hope guiding, leading, escorting you through the misery of your own conscious, out to a far more pleasant world.
Wretched, you fight on as it slowly slips away, loses its strengh,
It is heartbreaking to watch them trying to get back, not flinching despite their wounds and scars they carry from the river of time,
Stained in crimson at last the flower petals of the falling season, reflect upon death repeatedly, with each one falling the soil cries out.
Take a dance with me in this distorted somber dark there is nothing to be sad about, the fate to be forgotten is the fate of every face, one day,
They wither over like the roses during autumn, fall from grace alike the petals of the sunflowers when their time to leave for the next generation has come, or alike the dandelions scattering their seeds,
But most importantly, is to not forget that whilst existing you can make a change, for yourself, for the better, for others,
Maybe you are their light their flower of a spring dream.
Even if humans continue to live wretchedly,
Living, is what I find very beautiful.
~ Umi
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
Saw her first at cousin's weddinG,
She looked astonishing I knew where it was headinG
Escorting the bride she came in smilinG
My eyes got glued on her and my heart started poundinG.
Afraid of her brother but she agreed to meeT,
I got there first, where the buses fleeT,
Time and place was on her to fiX,
Excited, I reached before the clock tickS,
There I saw her waving at platform thirty siX.
Time freezed for a while,
Walking towards her a million thoughts ran through my mind,
Was that really her or someone else!?
But that same magical smile and my heart again melts.
Simple, yet pleasant I liked her stylE,
But the best thing was definitely her smilE,
I got lost , stammered in speech for a whilE,
She was confident and I got nervous blood profilE.
The place was new ,
None of us had any clue,
I was sweaty , the day seems hottest,
Perhaps the oddest in the whole August.
Black and white top and she blingS,
Leather sandals and those shiny earingS,
The watch was pink , hairs were perfect readY,
But **** her luggage was real heavY!
Got in a cab, and some comfy place to talK,
She was in a hurry, but i had all the clocK,
She was bold at the same time cooL,
And I was smiling for no reason like a fooL.
More time I wanted to spend,
But getting her home safe and sound was important in the end.
Got her a bus had to bid a good bye,
And my hopes of meeting her soon are sky high! :)
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
Someone asked me,
Who is a teacher?
A pathway to degree?
Or holds a position deeper!
‘Union of multiple roles’, I said,
Is a teacher’s true identity;
One who enlightens the road ahead,
Assisting selflessly which is a rarity.
Playing a huge role in our upbringing,
And giving us a constant support;
Teachers were there motivating,
In the times we felt lost.
They teach us the art of life;
Losing sleep for other’s child,
New and innovative ways they devise;
It is incomparable what they provide.
The ones who are always well-wishing
Steering to right path and escorting;
They instill a passion for learning,
Student’s success is their earning.
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 1:23 PM UTC
"I love you."
My fingers froze:
dark eyes on a list
as long nails clacked
on gray keys which
stuck with age and use.
I dreamed of love,
sweet hordes of
doves escorting me
to my desire of
love, love, love.
Such dreaming flags
floated in my mind,
wishing to be a hot ***
body made of rag,
a delicious mess
of hearty gags.
I wanted promiscuity,
in all its forms,
shed of all its innuendo
and flimsy disguises.
I wanted hard action,
man on man,
cheap rides and
cheaper thrills.
I wanted to be a little
pornographic princess,
a tiny-dicked seductress,
big ***** conductress
of all his passions.
My flag flew up as a
hormonal reaction,
attraction,
smooth bodied and
tight lipped action
running up and down
my jaded cadaver.
He wanted a **** *****
a promiscuous witch,
casting love spells and
**** glances to make him
itch.
He entered my love nest,
the back seat of a car,
to destroy my frame,
to rid me of my childishness.
My folly melted away
in sexyhot sways
of my hips as
my lips would say
lust filled nothings
that would be filled by
empty sighs and
****** filled
"I love you's."
My fingers froze:
as brown turned to white,
my body turned to snow
and rained down around
his swollen flagpole.
He was incompetent,
inept at the deed
and unable to satisfy,
but it was my ego that needed
this gratification, not my
libido.
I laid in the aftermath of the attack,
calm,
demure,
sad but
ultimately relieved
Finally,
I am ravaged.
I have soiled my nation
and salted my own fields,
laying waste to my youth,
my innocence.
I wanted to be conquered
and so did I receive,
being taken and
yet somewhat untaken.
I remember his voice,
that dumb accent.
I remember his preconceptions
of what this was supposed to be.
"I love you."
My fingers froze:
as lungs filled with air,
and brain filled with contempt,
my jaded body grew
to desire--
God, I really wish I had a cigarette.
I remember how he thought
I cared,
how he though that
anybody did.
I remember how,
I thought I had, too.
"I love you."
No, you don't.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
Healing hands laid to rest
wandering in the near light of sunrise
fumbling for fractals of memory
ambling in the haze of yesterday.
Stolen words and displaced letters
floating in the ambience of space
cosmonauts of distant planets
arms outstretched beckoning
the echoes sent from
a thousand light years away.
Time is an irrelevant motion
tiny air bubbles escorting life
rising to the surface of forgotten dreams
spiraling, pulsating in a heartbeat
chambered by grasping futures.
The underlying fever reaching
inwards and outwards through the soul
seeking the blindness of tomorrow
unfurl their magical delights
wrapped in the glint of a solar cosmos.
Drifting beyond the reach of nature
blackness surrounds with the warmth
of knowing, a million miles away,
as if an undercurrent draws its final breath
behold wonderment far-seeing
leaving strange footprints
that someday others will say:
here stood a sentient being.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
She blinks.
And such an ordinary unnoticeable movement
Creates movements in places he never intended to landslide.
She's a super natural rip tide
She's an extraterrestrial tour guide
To the universe
Of his dreams.
The
Space
Of her smile
Sends his pupils rocketing space-bound.
The black holes of her throat are cautiously slippery,
She wants him to drown.
She's ******* him down
Down
She's gathering him up
And escorting him around
Like shooting stars in a moonlit sky
His pupils search for the skies in her eyes
And she blinks.
She etches the disguise of his demise in her memory,
And she tattoos her name in his heart with permanent ink.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
Constriction
So tight that it is suffocating my conviction
I can feel the knot, but my eyes can not find the chain
Is it around my neck, heart, or brain
Hysteria is dripping from my pores
That god **** anchor is dragging me to the ocean floor
Where is it tethered
Why am I breaking
This isn't even the worst storm I've weathered
My heart quakes to the sound of the deck the chain is raking
Rapidity
I'm being consumed by my own stupidity
Grip my hands even if the fingers you clinch crack
Because once I go under, I'll never come back
To whom am I even giving this commmand
You are back in the forest loving the land
Needed elsewhere was your love, you had no room left to care
For that reason is why this is my burden to bare
Sinking
Oxygen fleeting, only a few moments left of thinking
No hope of those tender hands reaching me
Endless gravity escorting me to the abyss
Only regret is that we couldn't share one last cup of tea
Stay ignorant of my fate because I am nothing of worth to miss
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
In this place poets care, share, and like
Encouraging each other along.
Lifting hearts up from deep trenches
of Ignorance, ill traditions, misconceptions and lies.
Drawing back curtains, just enough
to quench the masses ceastless wondering,
"There must be something more?!"
Your creative holy work has a great purpose!
Escorting the hopeful aspiriant to the place
Where the shadow dawns into explosive light!
Gently nudging, englightening cognizence of new awareness
As pieces of puzzlement merge into a glorious whole!
Dear Poets, you matter
Nevermore, doubt your place!!!
You are among the Inspiritors of the Earth!
Dec 28, 2021
Dec 28, 2021 at 6:14 PM UTC
It’s cold out,
But I want to lean over the side of my bed, grab my blue flannel pajama pants from last years Christmas, And slip them up my skinny legs for a drive.
I would pass up the dim, street-lit highways to arrive at the airport.
I would leave a note on the granite counter top for ma, to explain that it was desperate times escorting my desperate measures.
I would arrive at the gate with my flannel pants, my mobile diary, and my heavy hanging shoulders with my puffy tired eyes.
I would board my plane, eat my peanuts, and since it's Thursday and Thanksgiving is a weeks past, spread myself out across the row of emptied seats.
I would get two hours of rest to wake up with frost on my side window, and the snow of Denver to keep my chilled company.
There I would board my bus for my fourtyfive minute adventure to Boulder.
Thats where we would meet, you with your Audrey Hepburn hair and perfect pearl smile,
A cup of coffee in your left hand and a cup of cocoa in your right.
Me with my flannel pajamas and oversized jacket
With nothing else to offer--except for my presence.
We wouldn’t say much
Just giggle and give some hugs in the dead of Colorado’s bitter beautiful nights,
Before heading to where you call home to cuddle and hide from the rest of winter.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 3:23 PM UTC
On darkening red sky languish low clouds as if, smeared into existence by artists knife,
golden edged against clear red sky that transitions, upward to darker cover, void of light.
Horizon formed by railway bank black, sprout twig and bough silhouettes of bush and tree
still in winters mode, bud form begins, reach, mingling with power lines gentle bow
in the the distance assemble birds seemingly in motion slow, fly seeking places known,
their favorite safest roosts, whilst crying silently, seagulls solicit the close estuarys call.
Serenely and unusually silently a train glides into view, slowing, prepares to halt
at the nearby serving station, clouds, now red edged emanate in windows of carriages long,
through moving frames the scene so pictured then - with the last carriage, gone.
The backdrops reds darken as the unseen sun sinks lower to adorn skies new
and so draws in the waiting night, escorting pinpoint stars, finally kissing the day adieu,
Laughably today, so called ‘happiness day,’ today, where tiny annoyances
grew into frustrated rage, conversation nettlesome, tension nerves to stressful result,
Mentally I accept the guilt for letting me, yes me - down, yes - it is my fault.
Still, a scene like this.... calms my reality within, even so, the self incriminating roundabout
slowly, restarts again the anger of - my - self created weaknesses and futility.
Thankfully this darkening sky creates a serene oneness in which retire I,
the placid evening, now early night, calmness returns connecting me with this aspect .
regardless of this view a day indifferent, tomorrow maybe be a better prospect.
Spring Equinox Evening Michael C Crowder 21st March 2019
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
Two in the night isn't the right time
to be watched over by two eyes in silence
occasionally broken by a hushed voice
pack up sir, madam must be waiting sleepless.
Three in the night and he was right beside me
while the weary moon slanted to west
and dead insects lay on the floor
burned out by the joy of light.
Four in the night he was escorting me home
half a mile up the hill
when the stars were shedding light
fading with the dying night.
He died sometime after I left the island.
On sleepless nights he's there to see me off.
He could never be dead in my head.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
She sits alone, mostly. Rolling within the rank sweat and smog filled room she calls her "home"
Black and white, black on black, white on white. Crisp and clean, yet muddied with her emotional tolls
Gangly legs lay crissed and crossed into the apple sauce, folding in and bent at the knees
Her Raven hair is swept across the floor like a ***** mop left out to dry in the rotten sunshine (or so she calls it)
Portraying the swayed emotions that she feels like a long black river of gnat buzzing irritation
"Stupid." she whispers in a mocking tone, head cocked to the side with a face filled with blankness
"Stupid Pretenders," she mutters in a voice as soft as the whispering ghosts, lost within the sounds of the dead
Pretenders. That is what she calls them as they flit too and fro, ignorance and bliss surrounding the obvious facts
Floating in and out of her mind, she has memorized every single one of their faces, down to the last detail;
Every last acne scarred face that tormented her while she was a "just a child", they billow down into her mind
The blank and fish glossed eyes never truly seeing, staring blankly ahead of them while they passed by, oblivious
Like running brooks, and rays of light they ebb and intertwine into who she is (or who she thought she once was)
She enjoys pretending that she knows their stories, has lived their lives, all while she is glaring madly into lost space
Having been swept astray, she descends deeper between lulling calls of the dead, mourning in sweet song for her fruitless life
They plead with her to sacrifice her existence, escorting peace into her tattered soul, to terminate her withdrawn pain
Lending her the hand of the Black Rider who comes at dusk, singing a haunting lullaby to drag her down into the dawn
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
Rebellion – for too long the status quo,
is, in our day, a predictable show.
Antichrist irony, absurdity
shockingly daring incongruity
no longer shock the bourgeois, you know…
Alone in the temple of glass with a rock,
you’re out of traditional symbols to mock.
Surrealists did it much better than you –
and it meant a lot more in ’32.
You chew your cud on the cattle-wagon
overused shock-tactics (moo ! ) now draggin’
(or herding) aboard the iconoclast train
(b)lowing through boxcars your bovine refrain:
“to, um – make people think…” Oh Lord, how uncouth.
Nihilist narcissus – tell me, what’s Truth?
Must creative always be subversive?
I discern, in your frenzied discursive,
a dull and predictable lack of life.
While you brandish that plastic butter knife
I seem to note, in your constant ******
dearth of artistic ability. Must
bohemian acolytes (some yawning)
ever be deer in the headlights, fawning
before the ironic gesture? It’s sad;
the bitter is sweet but the art is bad…
They circle hors d’oeuvres on opening night
like moths around white wine in candlelight,
cerebrating in a modernist void:
contemporary aesthetes, overjoyed
to know once more that life has no meaning;
the planet is doomed; that kings are queening;
that chic just arrived, escorting philosophy
(Forgive us, Duchamp, for all this monstrosity).
I long for Hudson River School sunsets
Old Dutch Masters, religious art, portraits,
Red, green, or black propaganda-art? NO !
The view does not merit the price of the show.
I’m dada-ed to death, beyond the surreal.
Conceptual gimmicks have failed to conceal
your want of ability, values, and faith
In the book you despise it is written: “thus saith
the fool in his heart: that there is no God…”
You: Postmodern Art – to the firing squad!
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
"This is the day we've been waiting on. It's ok to be nervous but don't be scared. You are the sacred vessel" said the tall dark skinned woman as she looked down into the eyes of the ten year old boy.
Dressed in a red and black robe the ten year old boy said "I'm not afraid. I'm just ready to get this over with."
"That's just what I wanted to hear Levi. It's time to get started. Please follow behind me" said the tall dark skinned woman.
"Yes mother" said Levi as he followed his mother out of his room.
Leading Levi down a long hall that was illuminated with red light his mother said
"When Priest summons the spirit Evil remember not to fight it. Just let it take over."
"Ok" said Levi. When Levi and his mother entered the worship area Levi's mother had him stand in front of the altar and the clergy.
"Thank you Harriet for escorting Levi to the altar" said a tall figure wearing a black hooded robe.
"You're welcome Priest" said Harriet.
Holding a baby creature in his right hand and a knife in his left hand Priest stepped down from the altar and stood in front of Levi. Priest stabbed the baby creature in its stomach and ripped it opened. He dipped his finger in the baby creature's blood and anointed Levi's forehead with its blood.
"Bring me the Book of Evil" said Priest.
A short figure wearing a black hooded robe stepped down from the altar and brought Priest the Book of Evil. Priest turned to the chapter Evil and began reading.
"As the night blinds the sight of the male and female and Death stalks the living and Hate stands on the grave of Love. Only then will evil reveal itself. I offer this vessle to the spirit Evil. Come forward Evil I summon you."
When Priest finished reading from the Book of Evil the red lights that illuminated the compound began to flicker off and on. From out of no where a gust of wind began to circle around Levi. Slowly the wind transformed into black smoke.
Over taken with fear Levi was unable to move. The black smoke entered through Levi's gaping mouth and took possession of him. Shaking violently Levi fell to the floor.
"Levi are you all right?" asked Priest.
Levi stood to his feet and looked Priest in his face with eyes as black as death. "The child is no longer in control" said Evil.
Evil walked up to Priest stuck his hand in Priest stomach and pulled out his intestines.
"LEVI YOU KILLED YOU'RE FATHER!" screamed Harriet as she ran over to the lifeless body of Priest. "I am Evil. Like I told the child's father Levi is no longer in control but for amusement everyone may still call me Levi" said Evil as he looked down at Harriet.
Evil pointed at the figures on the altar and told them to get rid of Priest's dead body.
"Yes Levi" said the robed figures.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
I am cog in the wheel
do not dismount me
I am cog in the wheel
of a not dreary chariot,
A marginal chariot chasing the
uppings of me.
I am a cog in the wheel
never detach me
I am cog in the wheel
of an ecstatic chariot,
A fancy chariot with horses
smiling at me.
I am cog in the wheel
dare not disentangle me
I am a cog in the wheel
of a suprising chariot,
A royal chariot hopping
to peculiarities of me.
I am cog in the wheel
suppose not disaffiliate me
I am cog in the wheel
of a heavenly chariot,
A pearly chariot scampering
towards hallucinations of me.
I am cog in the wheel
absurd not disassemble me
I am a cog in the wheel
of a spacious chariot,
A majestic chariot skipping
beyond incubus of me.
I am a cog in the wheel
please do not disassociate me
I am a cog in the wheel
of a cordial chariot,
A regal chariot escorting
development strands.
I am a cog in the wheel...
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
She left me
I never thought she would
I don't know what I did
and she wouldn't wait to tell
I went out that night
I never do
well now it's never did
it became routine
arrive at 9
drunk by 10
home by 1
escorting my visitor out by 9
you know most times
I never learned their names
I never wanted to
too personal
personally I think I'm fine
I don't think about her as often
and if I do I drink
until the thoughts subside
the pain drains away
only to refill itself
every morning I'm woken up
by the same pain I'd avoided
the night before
but over time it lessened
my mind learned it's lesson
it forgot how to love
I stabbed myself the other day
and was surprised to see I bled
the pain didn't register
as I lay another woman that isn't her to bed
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
My cavalier
a snowdrop's gentleman
escorting the delicate kiss
within waltz of nature harmony
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
The endless sands bulging over and breaking
in undulating form
shifting in the winds language of low wolf whistles
and sensual whispers
stretches as far as the minds elasticity
into a sheltered cove where sits,
a desert prophet dreaming of strange rituals
in the mirage of waters and wastelands.
Come time and temperament he will rise
in the chill night to gaze upon the stars
moving within the spangled galaxies
between The Milky Way and Cassopeia,Andromeda,
with Sirius suns rising in a another world
where secrets lay buried in the papyrus
of ancient astrologers who understood
how the earth was born and
other peoples left their mark
for a discovery of millennium future.
The prophet was here once.
Twelve feet tall and striding
between giant obelisks and pyramids
walking oceans, crossing land bridges
and land masses escorting
his forbears to seed the earth.
"I will return in time
ten thousand years after the Aztecs
Machu Pichu, Indus and Empires
built on carved gods and seven headed hydra,
to rule again unquestioned, as before. Think.
Till then -leave what I have left behind
for you to caretake. Stay still. Understand.
Author Notes
Return?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
escorting you through the back alleys of Asia,
well it's kinda like
strutting into an interview drunk.
It's kinda like walking through airport security
with a baggie full of illicits in pocket 4
or is it pocket 5?
Hearing you speak Korean
with a shaking head
and a firm hand on my inner thigh,
well it's kinda like
asking a stranger to pay for my drinks.
Treating you to dinner and pitchers
when your heart's fighting your brain,
well it's kinda like
reassuring a child on his birthday
that he's getting presents later in the week.
And so receiving your words in the morning,
well it's kinda like
getting a kiss on a swollen cheek
right beneath a fresh black eye.
It's all kinda like it's dangerous
but I think I'm doin' an OK job
at acting like I know what I'm doin'.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 11:05 AM UTC
A fire blazes beneath the waves.
That bright light, that once blinded,
gets dimmer as it slowly drowns
in the distant depths of yesterdays.
A squid and a whale motion ignorantly,
escorting the diminishing light down.
A school of barracuda look on obliviously.
Echoes of silence reply from the dark depths.
It begins on the Moon, bright and blue,
the ground has Spring and the light is new.
Until it comes crashing, splashing some brine,
sinking down to the bottomless heart of the ocean?
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
Growing up in Torrance—
A suburb of L.A.—
Billy was a SoCal
Dreamer all the way.
He loved sunny beaches
And smooth mountain slopes.
A day without the sunshine
Would always dash his hopes.
Not the greatest student,
He wasn’t good with books.
Luckily, he quickly learned
To get by on his looks.
He never went to college;
School was not his style.
Modeling, he thought,
Might be more worthwhile.
Sure, he was good-looking
And knew he could excel.
But like many others,
He didn’t do so well.
Deciding on a path
Requiring looks and charm,
He felt that entertaining ladies
Couldn't cause much harm.
(Chorus)
The king of the strip club circuit—
The lord of the nightclub scene—
In New York and California
And places in between
Will walk into a room
And all the people’s eyes
Look in his direction—
Both the ladies’ and the guys’.
Although he’s buff and handsome,
He tends to put on airs.
Despite the six-pack down below,
There’s not a lot upstairs.
Being a male stripper
Could get mighty old.
Removing all those clothes,
Doesn’t one get cold?
But Billy loved his lifestyle
And took it on the road.
He even tried “escorting”
Whenever business slowed.
All across the country
You’d hear the ladies scream.
When Billy walked out on the stage,
You could feel the steam.
Pumping iron by day
And stripping after dark
To Billy was exciting—
A walk in the park.
It must take some talent
To strip before the lights.
But his knock-out body
Helped him reach the heights.
You wonder, Was he happy?
It’s really hard to tell.
All we know is that for years
He raised a lot of hell.
So what does Billy do now?
Ask at clubs and bars.
Some say he sells insurance;
Others say used cars.
Someone said she saw him
Last month near Chapel Hill,
Sitting on a bar stool
At a bar and grill,
Sweet-talkin’ the ladies
And trying to hold fast
To all the vivid memories
Of his glorious past.
(Chorus)
The king of the strip club circuit—
The lord of the nightclub scene—
In New York and California
And places in between
Will walk into a room
And all the people’s eyes
Look in his direction—
Both the ladies’ and the guys’.
Although he’s buff and handsome,
He tends to put on airs.
Despite the six-pack down below,
There’s not a lot upstairs.
- by Bob B
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC
Snowfall gently covered Belleville
in a blanket of softest down –
iridescent in the gaslight coronas.
A carriage pulled up at City Park Hall where
the coachman took white-gloved hands
and eased the ladies gently down the steps.
Some paused to pat the horses
in thanksgiving for the lift.
Top - hatted men offered arms to their wives,
escorting them up the snowy stairs
and into the buzzing lobby.
Trays of wine circled the room -
their cargo reduced at every stop.
Each raconteur spoke of celebration for the
Philharmonic had turned a decade old that week.
Programs in hand, people claimed their seats
while musicians on stage
practiced random admixtures of
excerpts that would come to order soon.
Then by the light of gas chandeliers,
Julius Liese raised his arms and brought
Haydn’s symphonic London to Illinois -
a citizen orchestra led by the local lumber czar.
After the final echoes melted into applause
and coats were lifted over shoulders;
the time had come for the waiting carriages -
snow still swirling in the gaslight glow.
The clopping of hooves on cobblestone
drifted into the passengers’ ears
and co-mingled with the echoes of
strings, drums and wind blown music
still singing in their memories
and irradiating their souls,
January, 2007
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 3:40 AM UTC